


True Colors

by SusanaR



Series: Desperate Hours Alternative Universe G version (DH AU G) [50]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Army, F/M, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family History, Gen, Greenwood, Healers, Mirkwood, Royalty, Secrets, events of the Hobbit, family arguments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-16 00:15:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11817195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/SusanaR
Summary: Thranduil and Legolas agree to disagree about the “dwarf issue,” and Thranduil goes searching out an old friend to help guard his son’s back, should Legolas take disagreement to the point of treason.





	1. After the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> A/N 1: This story takes place directly after “Temper, and Time,” chapter 9 of the Tales of the Greenwood, which is available here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/1128331
> 
> Thranduil’s past experience fighting dragons is discussed in “Dragonfire,” chapter 13 of the Tales of the Greenwood, which is available here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/2489173
> 
> A/N 2: The elven OC Master Healer Nestorion and possibly several others who appear in this story belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> Quote:
> 
> “When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You know that your name is safe in their mouth.” ― Jess C. Scott

King Thranduil of the Greenwood had a temper. Everyone knew that. He knew that. But years and years of careful, loving, and sometimes stern training from his parents, kin, and family friends had taught him icy control of that temper. He knew that his mother, at least, regretted that he had lost so much of his youthful spontaneity. But it was hard to hang onto spontaneity when he also needed to be King.

Thranduil’s wife had called those rare occasions when her husband well and truly lost control of his temper “storms.” And they were rare. In order to limit the amount of nonsense that Thranduil had to put up with in order to conserve his strength and patience for what really mattered, he and his advisors had early on set up a system where the King seemed to have little time or attention for most routine matters of administration. Part of that partial-charade and partial-strategy required Thranduil to APPEAR to lose his temper at times. Which was useful, in that it allowed Thranduil to vent, and also gave him an outlet for his creativity.

Few things were enough to truly make him angry, and unable to control that anger. One of them was threats to his people. And that was exactly what was happening right now, even if some of his advisors – and even his beloved heir – could not see it.

First, Saruman the White, the Leader of the White Council, wrote to Thranduil. That alone was enough to put the King in a bad humor for a day, even though he wouldn’t generally lose his temper. Thranduil still felt sure, in his heart, that Saruman had somehow been involved in the ambush by orcs and giant spiders which had resulted in the deaths of his wife and three of his children just before the end of the Watchful Peace. They hadn’t been able to recover the bodies of his slain wife and children, but one of their soldiers had managed to find a scrap of his wife’s dress. In her own blood, with what must have been the last of her energy, she had used her fingers to draw the symbol of a stick beside a frog. It was the shorthand that she and Thranduil had used during meetings of the White Council, when they passed notes back and forth making fun of the stuffy Saruman and his slightly more tolerable colleague, Mithrandir.

Most of Thranduil’s friends and family members thought that the King was imagining things. That he was looking to make sense out of a senseless tragedy. And true, it had been a very rough drawing of a stick and a frog. But Thranduil knew his wife, and giving him and their people a warning of treachery was exactly the type of thing she would expend the last of her energy to do.

Then there was what Saruman wanted. Thranduil actually more or less agreed with it! That was the horrible and maddening part. Apparently, there was a party of dwarves, led by Thorin the grandson of the last King of Erebor, coming here to the Greenwood, on their way to try to steal their treasure back from the Dragon Smaug. Saruman wanted Thranduil to capture the dwarves and send them back to the Blue Mountains.

And if Saruman hadn’t recommended such an action, then Thranduil would have been tempted to do just that. If the dwarves did the polite thing and came the long way around the forest to meet with him in his North Hall, then the King would tell them to go away. Politely. Unless they were willing to offer him something worth the elves’ while to help them.

Long ago, before their move to Erebor, Thror’s late brother Fror had promised Thranduil a chest of moonstones in thanks for the elves’ aid in the dwarves’ flight from the Gray Mountains. Thror had reneged on his younger brother’s promise. Thranduil had planned to use those moonstones to reinforce the safe store houses at the edges of his elves’ different patrol routes. With the moonstones, even a moderately competent priest-soldier or seer-soldier could channel enough power to obscure the gaze of the Enemy and his servants. Or at least could do so for long enough to triage the wounded and get them on their way back to the North Hall.

If Thorin was willing to honor his great-uncle Fror’s word and retrieve the moonstones from within Smaug’s lair and give them to the elves, then Thranduil would be willing to give the dwarves escort through the Greenwood, and even some military and logistical support all the way to the Lonely Mountain. Of course, the latter would be in part to make sure that the dwarves kept their word, but still. Thranduil and his elves would help them.

And if the dwarves refused . . . well, they had cellars in the North Hall which they had used, from time to time, as cells when they captured human bandits, until they could find a proper place to extradite them to. They had even occasionally used them to detain elven criminals, until sentence was delivered. The dwarves could stay there until they either changed their minds about retrieving the moonstones along with whatever else they were after, or at the very least politely asked Thranduil’s leave to give up on their Quest and go back to the Blue Mountains. And then Thranduil would send them with an escort to make sure that they did exactly that.

So, Thranduil had more or less made up his mind to do something at least slightly different than Saruman had recommended, despite the risk of waking the dragon if the dwarves were willing to help retrieve the moonstones. If the dwarves agreed, then steps would have to be taken to secure the safety of the humans of Laketown, who were the elves’ trading partners and nominal allies.

Thranduil had no real fondness for the Master of Laketown or for Laketown’s current merchant elite. But he had been fond of some of their distant ancestors. And Thranduil’s beloved only living blood son, Legolas, had been very fond of Lord Girion, the last Lord of Esgaroth. The last that Thranduil had heard, Girion still had descendants in Laketown. Another Bard, Thranduil thought the man was named.

In any case, steps would have to be taken to protect the humans. And to guard the retreat route of the dwarves and the elven soldiers sent to assist/guard them. Thranduil would insist that his General take only volunteers for that mission. The elven guards, and the dwarves, might have to be left to the dragon’s mercies. Smaug had shown himself in the past willing to let the Wood be, and Thranduil could not risk large numbers of elven lives securing the safety of only a few elves and dwarves. The Greenwood simply didn’t have enough soldiers left for that to be feasible.

But all of that depended on the dwarves agreeing to retrieve the moonstones, and Thranduil felt that to be quite unlikely. But in any case, he had reached his peace with that decision. And then the letters had come from the wizard Mithrandir, and then his cousins Elrond and Galadriel, both urging him to heed Mithrandir!

Thranduil didn’t dislike Mithrandir as intensely as he did Saruman, but he still didn’t trust the ithron. And Galadriel annoyed Thranduil intensely, despite his fondness for her husband, Celeborn, who had been in many ways like an uncle to Thranduil during his youth. A missive from Galadriel was always irritating, even though Thranduil trusted her far more than he did Saruman. So it was vaguely disquieting to find himself in agreement with Saruman, and in conflict with the aims of Galadriel and Mithrandir.

Not to mention Elrond! Thranduil loved Elrond dearly, and he owed him a great deal. Debts that Elrond had never even noticed, because he was the kind of elf and kinsman who would do anything for those he loved. And yet even Elrond was encouraging Thranduil to listen to Mithrandir, and to aid these ridiculous dwarves on their foolish Quest.

Did the dwarves even know that Mithrandir was PLANNING for them to wake the dragon, and then somehow dispatch it?!? What did Mithrandir think that the dwarves were going to be able to do, to defeat a dragon? Thranduil knew dragons! It was a ridiculous, reckless, foolhardy, dangerous plan, and Thranduil would have no part in it.

And then, insult to injury, Legolas spoke up in Council and disagreed with his father. Legolas very rarely did that. He hadn’t been there when Thranduil and his party went north to the Grey Mountains to discourage the dragons from foraying into the Greenwood. But he had seen the damage done to Thranduil, one of only two survivors from that expedition. Legolas should have known better. But, to be fair, Legolas was young. He was young, and he feared what would happen if Smaug awoke of his own accord, and joined the dangers facing the Greenwood. And he was not entirely wrong to fear it. But Thranduil was old enough to know that fighting a dragon at some indefinite time in the future was better than fighting one this winter. And he’d told Legolas that.

They’d quarreled, in public no less. And then they’d sparred, without having apologized first. It had been foolish. Neither of them was hurt, but . . . Thranduil had lost his temper. And he did regret it.

And so he was determined to apologize at breakfast the next morning. It was to be a private meal, taken in the royal apartments. With much of his family and close friends away on their various patrols or diplomatic missions, it was only Thranduil, Legolas, and Thranduil’s foster-son Thalion.

Thalion was much older than Legolas. He’d been born during the late Second Age. His father, the soldier Aerandir, had been killed at the War of the Last Alliance. Thranduil’s wife had taken in Thalion, whose mother had died not long before. And then, after their wedding, they had officially become Thalion’s foster parents. Thranduil did not know what he would have done without Thalion, after the death of his wife and his older heirs, Thandrin and the twins Eyrntheliel and Lithidhren. To have both of his sons present for breakfast was a rare and pleasant treat, for both of them were also soldiers posted with different companies.

Thranduil entered after Legolas and Thalion had both already taken their seats. His entrance interrupted what had evidently been a fairly intense conversation between them. But what concerned Thranduil more were the small cuts on Legolas’ fair face.

“Good morning, Ada,” Legolas said with a tentative smile, seeming not apologetic for his hard-line stance in their disagreement of yesterday, but at the least willing to put it behind them.

Well enough. So was Thranduil. But he wanted an explanation for the injuries to his child.

“Good morning, laes-nin,” Thranduil greeted him, infusing his tone with all of his fondness and willingness to forgive, and enjoyed the light of relief which entered Legolas’ laurel-green eyes at that evidence of “the storm” being over. Thranduil didn’t bring up the cuts at first. Legolas knew that he’d seen them, and that he’d ask. But he’d let the youth eat first.

“How was your patrol, Thalion?” Thranduil asked his eldest.

“Tiring,” Thalion admitted with a frustrated smile, “We need that cursed bridge over the Enchanted River in order to move quickly enough to push the orcs and wargs and spiders back before they move to the other side to flank us. Their greater numbers allow them to push a force onto both sides, while we, well.”

“You’re doing your best,” Thranduil told him firmly, well aware of the problem of the bridge, “And I believe that our engineers have a solution to that.”

“Truly?” asked Legolas, perking up. A bridge over the Enchanted River would allow Home Company, which was the unit Legolas was currently attached to, to reinforce the companies based on the other side of the Enchanted River.

“So the Elders say,” Tharnduil said with a skeptical smile, “And your cousin Televegil is very enthusiastic about it.”

Both of his sons laughed, which was what Thranduil had intended.

“And I’m sure that the elfling bent your ear about it until someone came to rescue you, didn’t he, Ada?” Thalion asked, with fondness for his father and affectionate exasperation for the rather loquacious cousin Televegil.

“He did, indeed,” Thranduil recognized, “’Twas his sister Baeraeriel who came to rescue me,” Thranduil frowned faintly at that. Baeraeriel was one of the Greenwood’s few female soldiers, and she’d recently been accused of trying to use that status to incriminate a snake of a senior officer who Thranduil was fairly sure was lying about the whole incident. The military inquest was coming up shortly, and he didn’t want to dwell on it. Legolas would testify, they’d already talked about it, no need to go into that now. More lightly, Thranduil related, “The rest of our kin just stood back and laughed as Televegil talked my ear off during a dance to celebrate the harvest. They didn’t laugh aloud, you know, but they clearly felt that it was only fair that I get to deal with him, for some reason.”

“You did pay for his training,” Legolas pointed out fairly, reaching for the ewer of maple syrup to further slather his pancakes. Thranduil’s youngest son had quite a sweet tooth. Whenever Legolas was in residence, the kitchens sent up two ewers of maple syrup with breakfast, just so that Legolas could have his fill.

“Did you, Ada?” asked Thalion, clearly surprised.

“I did,” Thranduil allowed, resting his sapphire-eyed gaze on Legolas, “Although I’d be very interested to know where you heard that, laes-nin.”

“Ah,” Legolas paused, a sticky bite of pancake poised on his fork, “I’d . . . rather not say?”

“I imagine not,” Thranduil agreed wryly, as Thalion chuckled.

“In any case, ionnath-nin,” Thranduil explained, letting Legolas off the hook this time, “Televegil will be accompanying Thalion’s unit later this week to try to install the base of the temporary bridge. The base is to be stone, difficult to destroy. Each patrol will begin to carry with it the makings of a bridge, in mallorn wood and rope, that can be quickly constructed and attached to the stone base.”

Thalion nodded with satisfaction, “That way, we can always have a way to cross the river.”

“That is the hope,” Thranduil agreed. Eru knew he was tired of having to authorize funds and elves to rebuild the cursed thing every time the Enemy’s servants destroyed it.

“What happened to Televegil’s old idea of building the bridge with spider webbing?” Legolas asked, now drowning his bacon in maple syrup, to his foster-brother’s disgust and Thranduil’s resignation. 

“His stodgy King refused to approve the experimentation, given that I feel our priority with spiders should be killing them, and not harvesting their webs,” Thranduil said acerbically.

“Well, the spider webbing is there, and it’s strong as steel, Ada,” Legolas argued, “We might as well make use of it.”

“It belongs to the Enemy, Legolas,” Thranduil pointed out patiently, “What belongs to the Enemy is likely to fail us at just the worst moment.”

“Does the webbing still have evil will all its own, though?” Legolas persisted.

“I don’t know, ion-nin. And how would you propose that we test that?” Thranduil inquired archly.

“Oh,” Legolas realized, “There’s no way to do it, except to build the bridge and test it in actual combat conditions.”

“Where, even if it failed for structural reasons,” Thalion added, “It might be assumed that it failed due to ill will. Either way, the soldiers would lose confidence in the engineers.”

“And maybe also in their King,” Thranduil added, “So we’re going to leave the idea alone, Legolas. Your excessively enthusiastic cousin Elladan says that the rope he’s sent us does include spider webs, but those of some normal golden spider found in the far south, that is just a spider, so far as anyone knows.”

“That does sound like something Elladan would come up with,” Legolas agreed, while Thalion had the strained look on his face that always accompanied mention of Elladan, ever since the Great Spider Incident when Legolas had been only a young elfling.

Thalion rallied and shook his head, dispelling those memories. Then he asked, “What did we trade with Lothlorien for the mallorn wood, Ada?”

“Nothing,” Thranduil said, not overly pleased with that himself, “Or nothing of commensurate worth, at the very least.”

“Ugh,” said Thalion, who shared Thranduil’s opinion of Galadriel in magnanimous mode.

“It came from cousin Celeborn,” Thranduil noted.

“That’s only a little better,” argued Thalion.

“Hmm,” said Thranduil, who felt it was much better. The fact that Thalion and Celeborn still were at odds at times might be somewhat Thranduil’s fault, but that was a different story.

Thranduil waited patiently while Legolas finished the last of his winter fruit and morning tea, keeping the topics of conversation light, or as light as was possible between the ruler and his soldier sons in a kingdom under siege.

But as soon as Legolas had finished his breakfast, Thranduil asked, “Thalion, please give me and your brother some privacy. We need to have a discussion.”

Legolas groaned, and put his head down in his hands.

Thalion gave Legolas an unreadable look, then acquiesced politely. “I am scheduled to join Orophin and his Goldenwood guards for a hunt close to the Hall grounds,” Thalion explained, “I will go and doublecheck that all the proper security arrangements are in place.”

“See that you do,” Thranduil ordered, “A day’s leisure should not put you at risk. I am sorry that ensuring that it does not requires so much effort.”

Thalion gave him a fond, reassuring smile, and a quick embrace in parting, “It’s not your fault, Ada,” his foster-son assured him, before collecting his weapons and his armor and heading out the door.

Thranduil turned his attention to his youngest son, who peeked out at him tentatively from between the fingers of his hands covering his face.

“Care to explain the cuts on your face, Legolas?” Thranduil asked idly, but his son knew him well enough to know that it was a command.

Legolas wrinkled his nose in disgust. “’Not particularly,’ wouldn’t be an acceptable answer, would it, Ada?”

Thranduil merely waited, letting his silence speak for him.

Legolas sighed, “It was stupid. It’s over. It won’t happen again.”

“Who hurt you?” Thranduil said firmly, his patience nearly at an end. 

“Nobody,” said Legolas, blushing slightly, “I threw a blunted practice sword at the wall. It dented the wall and sent chips of stone flying back into my face.”

Thranduil blinked in surprise, then repeated incredulously, “You threw . . . a sword . . . at a wall?”

“A stone wall,” Legolas clarified, shame faced, his eyes on his syrup-streaked breakfast plate.

“Why?” Thranduil asked, torn between bafflement and concern.

“I . . . I was angry, after we talked. I was trying to work myself into exhaustion with a too-heavy sword. But even after I had, I wasn’t calm. So I threw the sword at the wall.”

“I see,” said Thranduil, who thought that he might. Legolas had a temper of his own, after all, even if it was difficult to rouse. “And what have you learned from this experience?”

“Ah . . . not to throw swords at walls?” Legolas answered, clearly hoping that the admission would put an end to the matter.

“A lesson which I had never thought that anyone would actually have to learn, let alone a young ellon as clever as you,” Thranduil said, with mingled affection and exasperation, “But yes, that is true. Now,” he continued, making sure to hold his son’s gaze, “Let us put this matter to peace between us, so that neither of us leaves this Hall and ventures into danger with it unsettled.”

“I would like that,” Legolas agreed.

Thranduil nodded, then said, “We disagree, you and I. I am the King, and I have decided that we will not aid these foolish dwarves unless they agree to fulfill the promise that Thorin’s great-uncle made to me before he was slain by the great dragon Asgareth, she who nearly killed me, she who did kill every soldier supporting me on that mission save one.”

“I know, Ada,” said Legolas, his laurel-green eyes bright with anger and tears at the memory of his father’s near death, and many years of difficult recovery. Years during which Legolas had been required to act as Regent. Despite the aid of many family members, friends, and advisors, it had been a difficult experience for Legolas, even aside from his worries over his father. Although, Thranduil knew, that had been the worst part for his son. 

“No, you do not,” Thranduil disagreed, his voice as unyielding as stone but mostly devoid of anger, “You cannot know, because you have never had to face a dragon. It would take more than an army to defeat Smaug, at least without dragon-arrows and archers skilled in firing them. You cannot know that, because you have never faced a dragon in combat. We only stopped Asgareth by dropping part of a cliff upon her.”

“But, Ada, we may have to face the dragon anyway,” Legolas protested, “Some day when we are also being pressed more fiercely on all other sides by Enemy soldiers. Why not let it be now? Cousin Elrond and cousin Galadriel say that they will support us. Why not gather their strength, and our own, and even the dwarves’, if they’ll aid us. Get the Men to support us too, and all of us together go to face Smaug.”

“It’s a nice theory, Legolas,” Thranduil said cynically, “But Elrond and Galadriel don’t have anything that will let us take on a dragon and win, not without incurring terrible, potentially war-ending, losses. The Men will not join us, they would rather huddle in fear upon their lake. And the dwarves are only planning to creep into their former home like thieves, and take a few gems from the sleeping dragon’s lair.”

“You would know better than I, Ada, but . . .”

“But you are consumed by the optimism and fire of youth,” Thranduil said dismissively, “And you think that you know best. But I have made my will clear, and you will obey it. Is that understood, my heart and my heir?”

“I understand,” Legolas conceded, his eyes still burning green fire.

“See that you do as you are told, then,” Thranduil said sternly, “And I will not hold against you that you think I am doing the wrong thing.”

Legolas sighed, “And I will not hold against you that you think I am in the wrong, in my objections.”

Father and son nodded at eachother, more or less at peace once again. There was nothing quite so unsatisfying as an agreement to disagree, Thranduil thought to himself, but it was the best that he could do. He couldn’t ask his son to change who he was, his youth or his hope and belief in Men’s better nature, in the power of courage and boldness and alliance to win the day. To lose that hope, that belief, Thranduil himself had had to lose his father, and the bulk of the armed might of Greenwood the Great. Thranduil’s own youthful optimism had died in the dark fires of the War of the Last Alliance, never to be completely reborn. He would never wish that on his son. So he would have patience with Legolas’ frustration. Or he would try, at the least.

And now . . . to answer another question.

“Who saw to treating your hurts?” Thranduil asked his son intently, “And how far do they extend?”

Legolas winced, clearly wishing that his father hadn’t asked. “I’ve cuts on my shoulders, too. The flakes of stone were sharp. But nothing serious.”

“Good,” Thranduil allowed, believing that this was the truth from the absence of pain in his son’s eyes. And because Legolas was not a good liar, when directly questioned. “And who treated you? You were injured by the . . . wall, yestereve. Yet your hurts already look several days old.”

Legolas winced again, and looked around the room, as if his father might forget the question if he just hesitated long enough.

Thranduil remained silent, waiting.

At last, Legolas sighed in defeat, and admitted, “Theli. After I told him how it happened and that it wouldn’t happen again, he didn’t seem inclined to tell you or anyone else.” Resignedly, Legolas added, “He probably knew that you would find out on your own, anyway.”

“He should have told me, in any case,” Thranduil said, displeased.

“Ada, please don’t . . .”

“Don’t worry about Theli,” Thranduil assured his son, “I’ve forgiven him worse. And do have a care,” Thranduil added, standing and pulling Legolas into his arms and embracing him tightly. “Any hurt to you pains me,” the King continued, treasuring the feel of his youngest son safe in his arms, “I could not bear to lose you.”

“I’ll do my best, Ada,” Legolas promised. Then, stepping away from his father with a cheeky smile, he added, “I’m told by more than one party who has cause to know that I do better than you did, at taking care. When you were my age, I mean.”

Thranduil narrowed his eyes, but he had too much self-honesty to contradict that. He did threaten to go after whoever was telling tales, which made Legolas laugh again.

Then he demanded of his son, “The next time that you are so upset, I want you to go and talk to someone.”

“But, Ada, you weren’t . . .”

“I don’t mean me,” Thranduil said, and cursed himself for a temper-driven fool, but to be honest with his son and himself, he had to recommend instead, “Go talk to Thalion. Or to one of your aunts, uncles, or cousins. Or a friend. Or even Theli, for that matter. Don’t work yourself to exhaustion, because then your judgment will be impaired. And, as it should go without saying but apparently does not, do not throw swords at walls. Or knives, or anything else sharp.”

“So,” said Legolas, with both love and approbation, “It’s a case of ‘do as I say, not as I do’ . . .”

“You, my heart, are an impertinent child,” Thranduil told him, because it was true, and even because Thranduil loved having an impertinent child. He loved not only Legolas’ sense of humor and his insight, but that he’d raised a son who wasn’t afraid to be impertinent to his father. In that way, Thranduil comforted himself, he had not failed Legolas as a parent.

“And besides,” Thranduil added, “I never threw a sword at a wall.” At least not that he could remember. And he wasn’t about to go asking his friends or his family, because some things he didn’t really need to remember. And besides, the sally got him another laugh from his son.

“Where are you off to, this morn?” Thranduil asked his son, basking in Legolas’ light-hearted laughter.

“To spar with Baeraeriel and whoever else is about in the upper salon,” Legolas answered, “Would you like to join us, later?” he asked hopefully.

“If I can,” Thranduil promised, approving of the plan to keep Baeraeriel distracted until after the trial. Additionally, she was one of the few elven soldiers who, like Legolas, preferred fighting with two long daggers to the more customary long-sword. Baeraeriel, like Legolas, was a child of the Watchful Peace, although she had been born near the beginning and Legolas near the end. Still, at under a thousand years of age, Baeraeriel was accounted a young elf, indeed. But she was extremely skilled with her daggers. Baeraeriel was a military prodigy in nearly every sense of the term despite her diminutive frame, and Thranduil thoroughly approved of her as a sparring partner for his son, and he said so. He also promised to join Legolas and his fellow young soldiers if he had the time. He never failed to enjoy seeing his children demonstrate the ability to defend themselves, and loved having the opportunity to teach them new skills himself. In a different world, Thranduil would have dedicated himself to a career as a mere military officer. In that different world, he would have been able to spend more time training his children himself, rather than having to rely on others to do it for him.


	2. Old Friends

Having made peace with Legolas did not mean that Thranduil wasn’t going to seek out his junior royal healer and have a word with Theli himself. Legolas being angry enough to do something so stupid as throwing a sword at a stone wall and injuring himself in so doing was something that Thranduil should have been told about, curse it all.

Thranduil tried the healer’s ward first, but found it quiet. Theli was primarily a trauma healer and a surgeon, and he was rarely to be found in a quiet healer’s ward. Next the King tried the alchemist’s domain, a place where he rarely ventured himself. Thranduil had a sensitive nose, and did not particularly care for the many strong smells which emanated from the alchemists’ various concoctions. The sound of bright laughter – Theli’s – from one of the medicinal still rooms helped the King to locate his prey.

The short healer and sometime-soldier was sitting at a long stone table covered in vials of various substances, some of them still smoking. He was in the midst of a knot of other healers, apothecarists, alchemists, and healer-alchemists, all of whom looked rather pleased with themselves.

“I think it would work,” said Master Alchemist the Lady Angolbrennil dubiously, “if one were to be able to set it over heat for a half hour first. Can you do that, in the field?”

Theli shrugged like a Man, making Angolbrennil and the other more formal elves about her shudder.

Master Healer Nestorion sighed, and placed a chiding hand on Theli’s shoulder. “I doubt it,” he said in answer to Angolbrennil’s question, “I am not sure that I would always have the half hour plus it would take to boil the purple root, white flower, and honey potion before applying it to the skin of a burn victim, even here in the Hall. How could you possibly have time for it while fleeing from the enemy?” Nestorion addressed this question to Theli, who was the only one amongst the healers and alchemists who was also a soldier.

“Sometimes the Enemy has been discouraged enough that time isn’t really a factor, at least not on the scale of taking dried ingredients, building a fire, and boiling them for thirty minutes,” Theli explained absently, as he tilted a vial of liquid, peering intently into its depths, “And besides, we could test whether the potion could maintain its integrity if we added a flash-fire component to the mix. If we could boil it in advance and just reactivate the heat inside the flask with a flint, we could maybe cut the activation time down to, say, five minutes?”

“That is quite a number of ‘ifs,’ Nestorion observed fondly, “But if you’ve gotten this far, and you have nothing else to do, you have my leave to use our supplies to pursue it. The gardeners have successfully cultivated our bee population within the Hall, and we can easily send elves out for more purple-root and white flower, even in winter.”

The Master Healer, who was also the Chief Royal Healer, turned his attention to Angolbrennil and asked, “Brenn? Do you have enough of the heating ingredients to spend them generously on what might end up being a dead end?”

Angolbrennil paused thoughtfully, then answered, “I think so, at least for a few more rounds of testing. This summer we can gather more of the tart berries used to create flash-fire, so at the very least experiments could resume then.”

“Burns?” Thranduil asked from where he stood in the doorway, taking most of the elves within the room entirely by surprise.

“Mostly chemical burns, Aran-nin,” Master Healer Nestorion answered fondly, “Such as those from spider-webs. If the fluid leaks between the seams of armor, your soldiers can suffer debilitating burns before they get sufficient respite to take off their armor and wash their skin with the cleaning agents it took us decades to concoct.”

“I see,” answered Thranduil, who had been aware of that problem. Intimately, personally, aware of it at times, much to the dismay of his guards and his family, who wished that the King would not take such a personal role in the slaying of the giant spiders which plagued their wood.

“And what would this new . . . whatever it is, do to fix the problem?” he inquired.

Theli looked up, enthusiasm sparking in his dark blue eyes, “Once activated, it could be mixed with normal wine, and then poured over the seams of the armor. Once there, it would dissolve the chemicals from the spider bites and shot webbing that cause the skin to actually burn. It would solve the problem of having webbed soldiers have to strip off their armor and wash as soon as possible, as the solution would work to dissolve the webbing while numbing the skin even through the cracks of armor.” 

“Clever,” Thranduil allowed, with an impressed nod to the ten elves in the room, “how soon could it actually be used by our patrols?”

“Impossible to say, Aran-nin,” Nestorion answered regretfully. All of the other elves, even Theli, seemed to agree, which was disappointing.

“What about dragon fire?” Thranduil asked, forcefully stopping himself from running his hands over the left side of his face, which had once been nearly destroyed by that substance. It was as different from normal fire as giant spider webs were from normal spider webs.

Most of the elves looked daunted, but Master Nestorion looked thoughtful, and Angolbrennil and Theli even appeared a bit intrigued.

“Maybe,” Theli allowed, “I’d have to write Elrond about it though.”

“Do so,” Thranduil directed, because Legolas was right about one thing, and that was that someday Smaug might be a problem they’d all have to deal with again. And in that eventuality, they would need all the help they could get, long-shot or not.

Remembering the argument with Legolas and what it had driven his son to yesterday evening, Thranduil narrowed his eyes at Theli, who looked back at him guilelessly, the deceptive brat. He knew very well what Thranduil was annoyed about!

“If you are at a stage of your testing which may be interrupted,” Thranduil asked in such a way as to suggest that the answer should be yes, “Then I would like a moment alone with Theli.”

The healers and alchemists exchanged mostly puzzled looks. Nestorion and Angolbrennil both appeared resigned, and at least Nestorion gave Theli a ‘what in Eru’s name did you do now?’ look, in answer to which Theli merely shrugged.

“Of course, Aran-nin,” Lady Angolbrennil answered on behalf of all of the gathered elves, and then shooed them out of the room. Master Nestorion and two of the healer-alchemists, particular friends of Theli’s if Thranduil recalled correctly, paused at the threshold, and looked worriedly between their King and Theli.

“Don’t worry,” Theli assured them with a lopsided, lazy smile, “If Thranduil didn’t find me amusing, no one would have ever chosen me to be around him in the first place.”

“Well, that is the By-Valar honest truth,” Nestorion muttered, but he still lingered long enough to ask Thranduil, “If he has done something foolish, I am willing to take care of it, Aran-nin.”

“I just want a word – or ten- with him, Nesta,” Thranduil assured the Master Healer who had patiently and kindly cared for him throughout Thranduil’s tumultuous youth and even through the present, “I’m not going to kill him.” No matter how tempting it might be at times!

“As you wish, Aran-nin,” Nestorion conceded, with a last concerned glance at the calm Theli.

When the door had closed, Thranduil crossed his arms and told the healer irritably, “You know perfectly well that you should have informed me last night that Legolas was picking fights with walls!”

Theli sighed, “I’m not a father, but I can understand that you would want to know. And if it were likely to happen again or if he had seemed likely to continue doing dangerous things in his distress, I would have told you. But Legolas was calm by the time I talked to him. And he’s not as stubbornly stupid as you are about getting hurt and not doing foolish things more than once, and . . .”

“Watch it,” Thranduil warned him sharply.

Theli just grinned at him, “Legolas is like you in some ways, but he isn’t you, Aran-nin. And I’m his healer too. I owe him what privacy I can give him if it’s not in conflict with his safety. I judged that he was safe enough for the night. And I knew that you’d see him in the morning, and find out for yourself.” 

All of that was true, so Thranduil did his best to control his indignation at being insulted, and his anger that any child of his would be hurt enough to need a healer, without him being informed of it. And then Thranduil paused, puzzled, because he felt that there was something else he should say, something else that he should ask Theli to do for him now, at this precise moment in time, and he couldn’t think of what it could be.

Theli waited on his stool by the alchemy table, perfectly still except for swinging a foot and tapping the fingers of his hand next to the table across its surface. Which was to say, as still as Theli ever was, outside of actual military combat.

Military combat . . . Theli wasn’t in the military now, and hadn’t been for several dozen years. And even before he’d taken his last leave of absence, he’d held no rank. Despite having once risen to the rank of Sergeant, a much higher rank in Greenwood’s military since Greenwood’s military had no automatic officer track, and had just merged the ranks of commissioned and non-commissioned officers, Theli had been demoted to the most junior of soldiers, despite his many years of dedicated service. The reason for that was mostly because he’d committed nominal treason by taking his last – and first - independent command hundreds of miles out of its purview in pursuit of slavers who had taken captive a number of human women and children, as well as just a few ellith and elflings.

Legolas had been part of that command. They had achieved part of their objective, in that they were able to slay or capture the slavers, and find out a great deal about their activities. Enough, in fact, that the elves’ Northmen allies were able to put a stop to the whole ring of slavers. But all of the ellith, elflings, women, and children were put to death by the slavers, just before Theli’s mixed elven and human patrol caught up to them. Legolas had had to see that carnage.

And Theli had dared to take Thranduil’s youngest son, and two dozen other elves under his command, so far outside of the Greenwood that there would have been no hope of supplies, aid, or reinforcements, had the slavers been a more formidable foe. Or had they encountered one of any multitude of possible dangers. It had been stupid, and disobedient. It had been beyond the pale even for an elf who had shown loyalty and dedication to his kingdom for over an age.

There had been voices, even within the military, which had called for Theli’s death, or for forcing Theli to sail to face justice in the West. Thranduil had ignored all of that. Theli had made enemies as well as friends throughout his long and checkered career as a soldier and his more recent tenure as a Lord, and some of the voices had been motivated by ignoble reasons. The prevailing view, amongst Thranduil’s most senior military leaders, including his general, had been that the harshest of military penalties would be sufficient to answer Theli’s crimes.

And Theli hadn’t contested that decree. He’d taken his intended-to-be permanent expulsion from the military without any contest.

As the charge had been treason, Theli had been tried by Greenwood’s circle of elders as well as punished by the military. Thranduil had told the elders that he had no desire for blood, or banishment. The Elders had been merciful as well, assigning Theli to the custody of other healers for a dozen years, and assigning him hundreds of hours of menial services to carry out. 

Theli had accepted the custody arrangement with only occasional protests. And he had carried out the many hundreds of hours of menial services which had been part of his sentence with equal calm obedience. Nor had Thranduil interfered to save Theli from the consequences of his actions, despite having done so at various times in the past.

Theli’s breathtaking lack of judgement had brought into question all of the promotions he’d made during his time as the sergeant in command of the special mixed elven and human unit which had patrolled the lands between and around the Wood and the old human city of Esgaroth. Those promotions had included both Legolas’ promotion to junior officer and Thranduil’s cousin Baeraeriel’s promotion to lieutenant. There had had to be investigations and tribunals to consider whether Theli’s promotions should stand. They had, but it had been a near thing in several cases. Commoners could, and had, risen to the highest ranks of Greenwood’s military. But it often took them longer than those of noble rank or more privileged backgrounds. So there was some resentment of Legolas, and of Baeraeriel, and of the swiftness of their respective rises through the officer ranks.

Thranduil had taken some time to forgive Theli for that, but mostly for having put his son and his soldiers at risk. Baeraeriel, unlike Legolas, had been amongst those soldiers that Theli had at least had the sense to send back to the Hall, to report on what idiocy his patrol had embarked upon. Out of consideration for that, and in recognition for Theli’s many centuries of service, Thranduil had declined to strip him off his lordship, or even his status as a royal healer, although that last had been in part because Legolas had pleaded Theli’s case, and Thranduil had a hard time denying his youngest child his heart’s wishes.

Not long after his twelve years of service were over, Theli left the Greenwood for a time. Thranduil had heard that Theli’s cousin Orophin had asked for Theli’s company, and that he’d gone with Orophin to Lothlorien. Thranduil had worried a bit about that, after Theli’s last experience having been captured by orcs while riding with the Goldenwood patrols. But Theli was an adult elf, and had the right to take a leave of absence from his job as a healer to go visit relatives if he wanted to.

Some time later, Thranduil heard that Theli had gone to Dol Amroth. Which wasn’t unprecedented, given that Theli’s cousins Orophin and Rumil had fought with the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth for a time, and Theli with them. Thranduil worried over that a little, because some elves didn’t need but to see the sea, to find within them the need to sail for the West. But Theli had been in Dol Amroth for years before near the beginning of the Third Age without hearing the call of the West, and it wasn’t really Thranduil’s business, anyway. He did appreciate the favorable trading terms and agreements that Dol Amorth extended to the Greenwood on the basis of Theli’s having made friends with Prince Angelimir of Dol Amroth and his family. But Thranduil had too much to do to think of the matter very often. 

Thranduil had firmly meant for Theli’s expulsion from the military to be permanent. But then the Siege of the Wood had continued. It was a war of attrition. And despite the best that Thranduil and his commanders and his Council could do, it was one that they were barely managing not to lose. They simply didn’t have enough elves. They couldn’t afford to spare the willing service of a capable soldier, not when he was also one of the Greenwood’s best battlefield healers.

That point was brought home to Thranduil when he nearly lost Legolas and one of Legolas’ fellow soldiers to injuries sustained during a difficult retreat near their old home in Emyn Duir. Their patrol’s soldier-healer had been killed earlier in the action, and Legolas and his comrade nearly died without having a healer there who knew to use the anti-coagulant poisons to slow their bleeding and put in temporary stitches until he could get them to a place of sufficient safety to apply the proper antidotes and stitch and bandage them properly. It had actually been Theli, on his way back from a visit to Dol Amroth to work with human healers there, who had fortuitously run into Legolas’ patrol and stabilized Thranduil’s son and his fellow soldier.

The orcs used hundreds of different poisons to coat their arrows and blades. And the chemical composition of the giant spiders’ venom differed depending on their age and where they had been hatched. The teeth of the wargs were always coated with dangerous bacteria. Some healers could keep all of those different poisons in their heads, and remember not only which antidotes and treatments went with them, but also which could be applied on the run and which had to wait until they were at a safe camp or even the antiseptic environment of the Hall itself. Theli was one of those soldier-healers, and Thranduil – and Thranduil’s army - needed him. 

And Thranduil had directed that Theli put in Legolas’ unit, under Legolas’ command, because he wanted his son to live more than he wanted to continue to vent his anger with Theli. And Theli was not only one of the better of Greenwood’s healer-soldiers; he was also the one that Legolas was most likely to listen to.

Theli had fought under Legolas’ command for several dozen years, before abruptly and reluctantly asking for a leave of absence not many years ago. The reason given by his captain to the general was battle-sickness, and that seemed consistent with what Thranduil had seen of Theli not long after he took that leave. Theli had refused to take the half-pay that Greenwood’s army mandated for soldiers who left active duty due to battle-sickness, but Thranduil had quietly directed that he be given it anyway. Thranduil had suffered from battle-sickness himself after the War of the Last Alliance, and he knew it wasn’t something that a soldier could control. Nor was it something that a solider should be dealing with and continuing to fight. By doing so, he would have endangered all of his comrades. And besides, it wasn’t as if Theli paid attention to how much money he did or didn’t have. 

But now, Thranduil found himself wanting Theli back by Legolas’ side, once again. It was in part because Theli was one of their best healers.

And he was something else, besides. Thranduil had tried his best to place Legolas with commanders who would be able to predict his son’s good-hearted but at times reckless impulses, and stop him from following through on them in time to keep him safe. Even if stopping Legolas involved restraining him physically or knocking him unconscious. 

But, as with the young Thranduil, it was impossible for even the wisest and swiftest commander to always prevent Legolas from following through on his valiant and kind instincts. And Theli was the only soldier in his entire army whom Thranduil could trust to follow Legolas into whatever danger he was determined to risk, without wasting time trying to stop him if it would be more dangerous to do so. Theli had been involved in similar foolish but brave feats in his youth. Once, when describing why he knew not to try to grab Legolas and haul him to safety when Legolas was leaping off of a cliff, Theli had explained to Thranduil, his general, and several captains that:

“You had to have jumped off that cliff before, to know that Legolas was doing it exactly right, and that grabbing him would have been more likely to queer his jump and harm him in the landing than secure him and bring him back.”

And that . . . that was the reason that Thranduil was here today. Even though he hadn’t realized it until this very moment.

“That foray . . . through the Northmen’s and the Ironbeard’s lands. After the slavers,” Thranduil began slowly, “That wasn’t your idea, was it, Theli?”

Theli stilled, and then said carefully, “It was my command. It was me who decided to try to rescue the captives, even though they were beyond our borders. I was the one who ordered my soldiers, your soldiers, to follow me.”

“And if you hadn’t,” Thranduil asked gently, “What would have happened?”

Eyes the deep, dark blue of the sky at midnight on a moon-lit night regarded Thranduil thoughtfully, and then after over a minute of silence, Theli finally answered, “If – as I think you are suggesting – one of my soldiers had indicated that he would go off on his own after the captives, and that I’d have to tie him up and drug him insensible to stop him, and that I might even have to suppress the potential mutiny that he would resort to in order to see his aims through – even then, the command was still mine, Aran-nin.”

“I see,” said Thranduil carefully, “Although it took me much longer than it should have, in order to see the matter clearly.”

Theli shrugged, “It was my command, Aran-nin. You and our general gave it to me. I made my decisions, and I don’t regret what I did, save that it was against your will.”

“And you didn’t think to warn anyone, about . . . that soldier. And what he might have done?” Thranduil asked tightly.

Theli smiled faintly, “That soldier’s father knows him. And that soldier’s captain knows – and knew – that soldier’s father. It wouldn’t take anyone by surprise.”

“You only took volunteers on that rescue mission, didn’t you,” Thranduil mused, now putting more of the pieces together, “You asked for volunteers, and only then did you give orders consistent with what your elves – and Men – were willing to do.”

Now Theli looked hurt, “You didn’t realize that I’d asked for volunteers before ordering anyone into unknown territory like that?”

“I’m sorry,” Thranduil offered, and he was, “That, I should have known. But you still deserved everything that you got, you know.” Although that wasn’t entirely true, Thranduil acknowledged with a pang of guilt. Theli shouldn’t have been birched, or at least should not have received anywhere near the maximum number of strokes permitted under Army rules. And he certainly hadn’t deserved the anger of other elves for having risked the crown prince and dozens of other elven soldiers on such a chancy venture. Thanduil had put a stop to overt demonstrations of that last, of course. 

“I know that I deserved it,” Theli agreed, making Thranduil worry about how little the younger elf seemed to value his own self, before Theli continued, “The ultimate decision was mine, no matter what one soldier would have done.”

“And what would you have done?” Thranduil asked intently, “If you hadn’t had that one soldier.”

Theli shrugged again, “I don’t know.”

Thranduil laughed harshly, “Yes, you do.”

With a sigh, Theli admitted, “Only three of our Men were even familiar with the terrain we were proposing to travel over. I myself hadn’t been to visit the Ironbeards except once, and that was long ago. I would have sent the messenger birds to the Hall, the Northmen, and the Ironbeards, and took my patrol back to Esgaroth. Instead I sent the birds, sent a force back to the Hall, took my volunteers forward, and just made sure that we scouted ahead cursed carefully and with enough of a time gap before moving the main force to fall back cursed fast if we had to.” 

“You protected everyone there from damage to their careers and reputations,” Thranduil marveled, “and trusted that I would not punish you too harshly for it.”

Theli shrugged again, and then smiled and answered impudently, “Your abiding tolerance for me is well-known, Aran-nin.” 

“And very lucky indeed for you,” Thranduil answered, with a wry smile.

“Yes,” Theli agreed.

“I am surprised,” Thranduil said sardonically, “that Legolas did not confess to me whose idea that potential disaster had been.”

“He promised not to,” Theli explained softly, “He promised, and so did the others. You had given me so many young, promising officers, with perfect records. The future of our army, of your army. And then there was me.”

Theli looked up at Thranduil and smiled uncertainly, “I already had a very checkered record.”

“To say the least,” Thranduil drawled.

Theli nodded back to him, “Just so. And everyone believed it of me, that I’d do what I did, and that it had been my idea.”

When Thranduil didn’t reply, Theli added, “I’m sure that if execution or sailing or something awful was truly on the table, that . . . certain soldiers, would have spoken up. But I trusted you, and trusted that it wouldn’t be. And I was right.”

“Yes, you were right,” Thanduil agreed. Then he took a deep breath, and thought about Legolas and his youth and optimism. And his recklessness. And he thought about how smart and fast his son was, and how smart and fast Thranduil himself had been at Legolas’ age. Thranduil thought about how he had been blessed with best friends and guards and a large group of family and friends who had done their best to keep up with him, without the distraction of a realm at war, and how they had still sometimes failed.

Thranduil thought also about what he’d have to do, to maintain his authority as King, if his son truly did commit treason, and in an even more flagrant fashion than he’d done when Theli had obscured the issue and taken the responsibility, and the punishment, in Legolas’ stead. 

Thranduil thought about all of that, and then he asked, “I want you to rejoin the army, and serve in the same unit as Legolas again. I want you beside him when he goes into combat. Any time that he goes into combat.” Thranduil left unspoken that his last directive included even those times when Legolas went into combat without support or permission.

Theli straightened up on his stool and considered that for a moment, his cobalt blue eyes distant as he thought. After a minute or so, he nodded.

Thranduil took a sigh of relief, then nodded back. “I would never execute my son, or make him sail,” he said, “The worst I would allow to be done to him would be a temporary exile to Lothlorien or Imladris.”

“I know,” said Theli, with a fond smile, “You’re a good father.”

Thranduil smiled bitterly, “Who is even now considering what I might have to do if my own son commits treason, thereby recognizing my failings as a father. My failure to be able to reason with him, and support him no matter what.”

“Thranduil,” Theli began sternly, “I know bad fathers. I had one. He wasn’t a bad elf, but after my mother died birthing me, he let himself drift away in a haze of herbs and wine. And I know bad grandfathers – I have – I had, one of those, too.” Theli lifted his hand and touched the top of his right cheekbone, across which went a thin white scar, about two inches in length, “He gave me this, to mark me for death if I ever came back to what had once been my home. He condemned me to permanent exile, merely for leaving home. When I came to him as a refuge of last resort when I had a dying comrade in my arms, he helped me, because my grandmother made him. But then he cut me, with his knife coated in a potion so that the scar would never fully fade. And he told me - and all of his people – that if I ever returned again, I would be slain.”

“I remember,” said Thranduil, his heart in his throat, “I was there. My son Thalion was that wounded elf. But you never told me, not until afterward, what you were risking, by going back.”

Thranduil fixed Theli with a very firm look, “I do not want anything like that to happen again. If you aren’t able to rejoin my army, if you are still battle-sick – then I do not want you to fight for me again. Not until you are well.”

“I’m a healer, Thranduil,” Theli said, clearly a little offended, “and I’m not stupid. I’m well enough to fight again without getting lost in my own head. I wouldn’t have agreed if I wasn’t.”

“Let me know if that changes,” Thranduil commanded, “It will not be held against you. You have my word, for that.”

“I don’t need it,” Theli said cheekily, “I know you well enough to know that.”

“Impudent brat,” Thranduil scolded, but he was smiling as he said it.

“No, just confident,” Theli contradicted with another grin. 

“Take care of Legolas,” Thranduil commanded as he got up to leave, “And take care of yourself, too, brat.” 

“I will,” Theli promised. And Thranduil knew he could trust that promise at least as far as it covered Legolas, and for as long as the two were together, that was good enough.


End file.
